Articles for the Month of April 2014

When you hear the word “relationship,” in the context of love and romance, what do you think?

Most people think of that type of relationship as being between two people. That’s what our society (United States; I don’t know about the rest of the world and don’t want to speak from lack of knowledge) has taught us. You date one person at a time until you find “the one,” and then you move in with and maybe marry them. When I posed the question “What’s the first thing you think of when you hear ‘relationship?’ on Facebook, the one word that showed up in nearly every response was “commitment.” Faithfulness and “to someone” were also part of some responses.

Some people read menage romances, which involve more than two people in a romantic relationship, with a sense that it’s purely fantasy and imagination and nothing like that could exist, or at least could work, in real life. My novel Shiny Objects (Passion in Print Press, August 2011), was written in response to an editor friend of mine who said she didn’t believe a menage could exist or work in real life because “no man would ever want to share his woman.” In that novel, I presented Elena, a woman living with and almost engaged to her boyfriend Corin, who reconnects with an old lover Niko and realizes there are still feelings there. Corin, a fairly laid-back guy, thinks he’s okay with Elena “getting Niko out of her system” before she finally settles down, but he soon realizes it’s harder than he believed. It isn’t easy for Elena or Niko either, but Elena can’t choose between the two men she loves. So with a lot of negotiation and communication, they become what’s known in the polyamory community as a V triad; the two men have no relationship (other than a sort of friendship), but share Elena.

Some people insist a situation like that can’t exist in real life, but I’ve known people who are in a committed triad (or more) and make it work. Sometimes kids are involved, sometimes not. Sometimes the families, friends, etc. of the people in the poly relationship are aware of it, sometimes not. There are many ways to form that type of relationship and to make it work, but three factors seem pretty consistent no matter what: communication, negotiation, and commitment.

I’ve mentioned in the past that when I was growing up, my dad had three male friends who were in a committed triad relationship. And their relationship was one of the healthiest I saw as a teen. They fought and argued, and there were probably things going on behind the scenes that I wasn’t aware of, but overall the three of them communicated, enjoyed each other’s company, and seemed to genuinely love each other.

The thing about love is that it isn’t finite. A parent can love more than one child, so why can’t someone love more than one romantic partner? I’ve seen it work, not only with my “uncles” but with other people in my life. It isn’t easy, by any means. And it isn’t the same as polygamy, in which one man marries more than one woman, often for religious reasons. I’m talking about polyamory, which means loving more than one. If there’s more love in someone’s life because of an unconventional relationship that everyone involved agrees about and is happy with, what’s wrong with that?

I invariably get asked this question at every conference I attend. Either by other authors or by readers. It’s hard to come up with an answer that makes sense because my writing process is a little nuts. Mostly because I haven’t developed a consistent one yet. I am a total pantser. More often than not my writing process goes like this:

An idea pops into my head, “what if this happened?” and my brain just runs with it. I’ll sketch out as much of that idea as possible and see where it leads. Sometimes it’s just one single scene that comes to me and I will build the rest of the story around that. Bouncing ideas off some of writer friends is also hugely beneficial.

Character research to really get to know my characters is also important. One of the questions I always ask my characters is: Did you go to your high school prom? It’s odd, but sometimes it yields a lot of information about my character. Even if I don’t use it in the story (let’s face it adding a tidbit in every one of my books about the heroine or hero’s prom could get tedious) but sometimes it yields interesting information. For example, in Feral Escape, Molly’s parents didn’t have a lot of money so she ended up borrowing her prom dress from a frenemy. Even though I don’t specifically mention it in the novel, this further cements the feeling of inferiority Molly has around this friend and influences future decisions she makes.

In my non-writing time, I spend a lot of time driving for work. Very often different ideas pop into my head while I’m behind the wheel. Of course, there is the problem of paying attention to the road rather than scrambling to find a pen and paper! I’ll stick these ideas in a folder labeled oddly enough, “ideas” and see if I come back to it later. When I can’t stop thinking about an idea or it starts taking on a more definitive shape in my mind, I just start banging it out.

I can’t write linear. I have a lot of friends who do and I’m jealous. It’s also agonizing for me to actually finish something. I have tons of heroes and heroines dying for me to give them the happy ending they deserve. When I do finish something, it’s very exciting! I do a happy dance. I pat myself on the back. Then I close the file and try not to think about it or look at it for at least two weeks, preferably a month.

When I open the file back up, I try to read it from start to finish without editing (which is hard for me to do!). I ask myself the following: is the story still interesting to me as a reader? The results vary wildly on this. Sometimes I start reading and my reaction is “Oh my god, this is so awesome I can’t believe I wrote it!” sometimes my reaction is “What a steaming pile, don’t ever show this to anyone, ever!” Sometimes the same story will get both reactions. I told you my process was nuts.

Give me some tips or advice! What’s your writing process?

Autumn Jones Lake writes scorching contemporary and paranormal romance with a smidge of snark. When not weaving happily ever afters, she enjoys collecting nail polish and playing with her dogs. Born and raised in Upstate New York, she vows to move South every Winter but falls in love with NY all over again every Spring and Fall. Feral Escape is the third story in her Catnip and Cauldrons series. Autumn shares her home with her husband and their three rescue dogs. She is actively involved in her local RWA chapter.

You can visit her at autumnjoneslake.com or say hi to her on twitter @AutumnJLake or

This is from a short story I wrote as a Christmas present for a friend.

Only a handful of guests had shown up to witness this, which was what we’d expected. We hadn’t known many people to invite, and some of the ones we had invited hadn’t been able to make it. The important ones were there, though. My sister. The friends who’d guided us through this process. My stepchildren.

Lyle and me. And Zya.

Lyle and I took our positions at the front of the room. I still didn’t completely understand why I had to take part in this ceremony. There wasn’t anything between Lyle and me beyond friendship and a desire to make Zya happy. But I understood Zya’s logic. She was formalizing her relationship with Lyle. I was accepting it.

Raven Jewel, the justice of the peace Joachim had recommended, leaned toward us. “Are we ready?”

“Yes,” Lyle and I said in unison.

Raven chuckled a bit. “Good. Don’t worry. I have the promises you’ve written, and this is going to be just fine.”

Lyle and I nodded, again in unison, and Raven signaled the guitar player. He changed from a mellow instrumental version of a popular rock song to a rocker version of the “Bridal March.”

Zya entered the room, wearing the blue and silver dress she’d chosen for the occasion. Lyle’s and my favorite colors mingled together in a dress that made Zya look more beautiful than she had since our wedding day. Her brown hair fell in soft waves around her face, and she had a shy smile that made me want to pull her into my arms and just hold her.

But this wasn’t my day. Not entirely.

She walked slowly to the front of the room and stood between Lyle and me. I couldn’t hold back my proud smile. This was the woman I loved, who I’d chosen only a few years earlier to spend the rest of my life with. We’d raised her two children from her first marriage together, and when I glanced at them seated in the front row, they looked just as pleased as they had the day they’d stood beside their mother as her attendants on our wedding day.

The guitarist played one last chord and silence fell. At a signal from Raven, Zya took Lyle’s hand and mine. She was trembling almost imperceptibly, and I squeezed her hand to reassure her. Even though I was at least as nervous as she was.

“Love is not finite,” Raven said. “Although our society teaches that commitments are between two people, love sometimes expands. Such is the case for these three people standing before me.”

She paused and looked at the three of us with a soft smile. “Zya, Holden, and Lyle have shared the story of their journey with me. Zya’s difficult realization and admission to her husband Holden, with whom she had an open marriage, that she’s polyamorous and had fallen in love with another man, a love which, far from changing her love for Holden, only strengthened it. Holden’s wonderfully loving acceptance of that aspect of his wife, and of the man she’d chosen. Lyle’s willingness to relocate and modify his life so he could share it with Zya and Holden.”

She looked at the guests. “Those of you who are here are the ones who’ve chosen to accept Zya, Holden, and Lyle’s relationship and love, and for that, I and they thank you. Love is infinite, and I know they love all of you.”

Zya sniffled, and I squeezed her hand again. My eyes were watering a bit too. When I’d met Zya online years earlier and had chosen her to be my wife, I’d believed it would be forever. And that forever would involve just the two of us.

I hadn’t believed I would ever suggest an open marriage. And when I’d made the suggestion, I definitely hadn’t expected it to lead to this.

Many of my readers know I’m an abuse survivor. I don’t make any secret of it, nor of the issues I struggle with because of it. And in large part because of my own past, the characters who come to me to have their stories told are also often survivors.

I want to make something clear, in part because of a comment made in a recent review of one of my books. Survivors can love. They can develop trust, and they can go on to have healthy relationships if they do the work. IF. To some people, it seems unrealistic for a survivor to enter a relationship with someone where they’re able to have sex and be open with their partner.

To others, it seems unrealistic that someone *wouldn’t* be able to do that. In my own experience, I’ve had more than one person tell me to “just put the past aside and move on.”

Let me also make it clear that I am not speaking for all survivors. Everyone has their own experiences and their own ways of dealing with them. I’m speaking for myself as a survivor, an author, and a reader. And I’m speaking for my characters.

For me, the truth is somewhere between “can’t move on” and “it’s easy to move on.”

I’ve been with my husband for six years now, and we celebrated our fourth anniversary on Thursday. I will say that by the time I met him, I’d already been in counseling for several months and had begun the healing process. But I still had three and a half decades buried, with emotional landmines planted by experiences that in some cases, I didn’t even remember.

The moment I met my husband–literally the very moment–I recognized someone I could open to and trust. Someone I could be physically and emotionally open with. Despite the dents and dings on my soul, I knew I could have a relationship with this man, including sex.

That doesn’t mean it was easy. Happily ever after sometimes takes a while. Sometimes, even after all this time, I still have flashbacks when hubby and I are in bed together. Even after all this time (and counseling), I still have landmines that go off every now and then, triggered by something seemingly completely innocuous. I mean, who would think a crayon would give me a panic attack?

In my novel I Should Tell You, both heroes are dealing with demons from past abuse. One is a recovering alcoholic; the other is addicted to prescription painkillers and ends up in inpatient rehab during the book. One is okay with sex; the other has to be high to have it, and has it because he likes it even though he isn’t sure he should. At their first meeting, and first real conversation, each of them recognizes in the other someone they *could* open up to, and with the help they’re given, they begin to do that.

I don’t consider the ending of I Should Tell You necessarily a happily-ever-after. It’s more a happy-for-now. Hunter and Mitch still have a lot of healing to do, but by the end of the book, when they’ve known each other for several weeks and Mitch has had a few weeks of rehab, they believe they can heal *together*.

That’s my experience as a survivor. My husband’s love doesn’t heal me. He doesn’t have a “magic wang,” as a couple of review sites have put it (and I put it in my novel Beta Block, which also involves a survivor learning to love and trust). True love doesn’t conquer all. But it can give someone enough hope to try to heal, and someone to help and support the healing.

Welcome guest Evelyn Aster today, here to talk about her contribution to the Spellbound Treasures universe created at Jupiter Gardens Press. Evelyn’s book takes place in one of my favorite cities, Albuquerque, New Mexico, which I got to visit in 2012 for GayRomLit. Thanks for stopping by!

Romantic Settings

Hello lovely readers. I’m Evelyn Aster, the author of Through the Paintings. Many thanks to Karenna for welcoming me to her blog today.

When you plan a special date for you and your partner, I imagine where it will be is one of the first things on your mind. At home with romantic music and candle light? In the park with a picnic? Up in the mountains far away so no one sees what you’re doing with your partner out in the open under the afternoon sun?

Setting is just as important for the romance writer. We want the reader to be taken to a special place. Sometimes it’s a magical world dreamed up entirely by the author, or sometimes it’s a real place the author enchants with words. Either way, we want it to be unforgettable.

Traveling to the southwest is really unlike anywhere else in the US. The landscape is alternately cactus and tumbleweeds, red clay mesas and rivers that could use several days of rain showers to make them look like anything other than a stream. In Albuquerque, NM, where Through the Paintings is set, history mixes with modern life in the tourist place called Old Town Plaza. My main characters own a gallery and cafe next to each other, but they care much more about falling in love than running their businesses.

Albuquerque is home of the mañana attitude: tomorrow, tomorrow. People who live by check lists and corporate or social ladders get frustrated if they move to Albuquerque, but there is no better place to let romance grow slowly and bloom like a desert flower. Of course, Through the Paintings is a Spellbound Treasure book, so it also goes some place magical—a place filled with pixies and an enchantress trying to split up the couple before they’ve gone much further than wistful good mornings over coffee.

Where is your favorite romantic getaway? Where do you take your partner when you want to be intimate? If you’re looking for someplace new or exotic, spend some time this afternoon lost in a story. I looked out of your office and your boss is busy in a meeting, and your baby will be asleep for another hour, and your partner will be home after buying you flowers. Enjoy

This was the scene that started it all. Spawned by a friend’s question “How could a werewolf be vegan,” I dashed off this short scene in May 2010. And it planted the seed that became my Real Werewolves Don’t Eat Meat series.

No! Oh, God, anything but this!

I tried to see my body. Fur, check. Pretty off-white color, or at least I would have thought it was pretty if it didn’t cover me. Snout protruding out far enough to see, check. Four paws with claws sticking out from the end of each… finger? Toe? Didn’t know what to call them. Check, anyway.

Shit. That fucking wolf-bitch had bitten me after all, even though I thought I’d dodged her teeth. No wonder I’d slept so long.

I lay on a patch of bare ground, surrounded by scattered leaves and evergreen needles. A few feet away, two humans crouched. One of them, I recognized. Tobias, my next-door neighbor and the object of the hottest man-crush I’d ever had. The fact that he was naked so close to me I could have reached out and touched him if I’d had the limbs I was supposed to have didn’t help that a bit.

The other human… After a second, I recognized her, too. The hair color gave it away, perfectly matching the color of the fur on the wolf that had bitten me.

I snarled and tried to stand, but I couldn’t quite figure out how to get those four legs under me. Tobias raised his hands and took a couple steps toward me. “Kyle, easy,” he said softly. “We aren’t going to hurt you.”

“I didn’t mean for this to happen,” the woman wailed. “Tobias, I didn’t mean—”

“Shut up, Melia,” Tobias ordered without taking his eyes off me. “You’re here to see the results of your poor control, not to make apologies. I know Kyle. I don’t think he’ll accept your apology easily.”

I managed to move my head in something resembling a nod. Fuck if I’d ever forgive the bitch! It hadn’t been my fault I’d wandered into the middle of a wolf kill. How the hell was I supposed to know every werewolf in the city would gather in a fucking vegetable garden? Let alone the one outside my apartment building.

Of course, given that several deer, rabbits, and other small creatures had been bothering the garden lately, it made sense the wolves would come to hunt. On the outskirts of the biggest city in the state, they probably didn’t find much wildlife, other than raccoons, skunks, and addicts.

I’d only gone out there to get some tomatoes for the vegan pasta sauce I was making. Sauce which would simmer overnight, so I’d have something special to share with Tobias. I’d invited him for dinner the next night, and since I knew he was an omnivore, I’d planned a menu that would take both his eating habits and my veganism into account.

The next night. Except I didn’t think it was “next” anymore. I’d gone into the garden like an idiot, ignoring the grunting, growling, snuffling noises until I’d seen the pack. Over a dozen wolves in the middle of my garden—“my” being a relative term meaning that although I hadn’t planted everything, I was the only one who gave a shit about it—muzzles covered in blood, and carcasses of dead animals scattered around, including a doe.

I’d puked before I started screaming at them to go away. Screaming at the top of my lungs, wondering why none of my neighbors came to help. Now I knew, of course.

Tobias was one of the wolves. And he’d probably made sure none of the other neighbors would ever see anything he didn’t want them to.

“You have to eat something, Kyle,” Tobias said. He crouched low to look me in the eye. “You’ve been unconscious for three days, since Melia attacked you. You don’t know how sorry I am about this. I wanted to protect you from it.”

Even in my current form, my heart and a couple other things responded to his words. When I’d first met Tobias, I hadn’t known whether he was gay, straight, or somewhere in between, so I’d made my moves very slowly. I knew I liked guys, and I knew I wanted him if it wouldn’t offend him too much. That pasta dinner would have been the time I finally told him how I felt, since I’d gotten all the signals from him indicating he had no objection to dating another man.

Melia had fucked that up but good. I growled at her again.

“Kyle, stop,” Tobias said. “She’s been punished, believe me. I don’t let my pack just randomly attack humans, especially a human I’d chosen to protect. Deal with her later. Right now, you’re weak. You have to eat something. Lots of something, or your body isn’t going to be able to cope with any of this. I have food for you.”

He whistled, and another man and woman walked through the trees carrying large platters. I didn’t know the man. The woman, Harriet, lived in the building beside the one where Tobias and I lived. Fuck, were all my neighbors werewolves?

They set down the platters and uncovered them. I gagged. Raw meat was piled high on both platters, still coated with blood and I didn’t know what else. No way could I eat that. Just seeing it made me want to puke.

I turned my head away, still gagging and coughing. “Kyle, you need protein,” Tobias said. “You’ll die if you don’t eat.” He lightly ruffled the fur on my head. “I don’t want that to happen.”

I shook my head. I didn’t want to die either, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to eat a stack of dead animals. I hadn’t eaten meat since age ten, and I wasn’t about to change my habits now just because some dumb bimbo had turned me into a wolf.

To my horror, she nibbled on the meat, her face lighting up at the taste. God, that made me want to puke even more.

I forced myself to my feet and staggered a couple steps backward, then collapsed again. At least I had some distance between myself and that abomination they called food. Don’t get me wrong, I didn’t care if others ate meat. But I sure as hell wasn’t about to, and I didn’t appreciate them trying to force it on me.

Tobias sighed. “He won’t eat it.”

“He needs it,” Harriet argued. “If he doesn’t eat it, we’ll lose him.” She glared at Melia, who cowered. “That would make her a murderer, in my book.”

“Mine, too,” Tobias agreed. “But we won’t lose him.”

“If he won’t eat what we’ve brought him…” The other man shivered. “I’ve seen a newly-changed wolf die of starvation. It isn’t pretty.”

“He won’t die.” Tobias shook his head. “Kyle, you stubborn bastard, you’re lucky I know you so well.” He stood, facing Harriet and the other man. “He’s vegan. That’s why I have those other platters ready. Bring him the veggie burgers and salad.”

The other man snorted. “A vegan werewolf? How the hell is that going to work?”

Not one of my publishers, fortunately, but it is one that at one point talked to me about writing for them. And one that several of my writer friends have been published by.

Silver Publishing started off pretty well, with good intentions and an apparent interest in doing the best for their authors.

Then royalty payments started showing up late, if they showed up at all.

Someone took over the company and used authors’ royalty money to cover his own expenses.

That same someone apparently set up more than one identity, which would have been fine if one was a pen name and one was a real name and that was all. But it appears that person used those names to cover his tracks in some cases.

I’m not going to go into all the issues that have arisen with Silver. As I said, they aren’t one of my publishers, for which I’m thankful. I spoke with one of their editors at a conference not long before all the negatives started being publicized, so the only reason they didn’t become one of my publishers was timing; I didn’t have time to write something for them when I had that conversation, and when my schedule cleared, I was starting to see the whispers that things at Silver weren’t good.

People who did their research about this publisher back in its early days, and up until a couple years ago, would have seen a company that seemed to have it together. But now things have deteriorated. You can never be too careful when it comes to checking out potential publishers, but even when you do all the research possible to make sure a company is legit, things can sometimes go sour fast, as I discovered in my own experience with Noble Romance.

A lot of authors have blogged recently about the issues with Silver and what is being done about them, so I won’t regurgitate what they’ve said. If you google “Silver Publishing problems”, you’ll find links to the posts that detail the situation.

Be careful when you’re looking for a publisher. Be careful when you sign contracts to make sure they have clauses about how you can get your rights back if things go bad. When new publishers crop up, as they frequently do, check them thoroughly before you submit, and better yet wait a couple of years to see how things go with them. (Though sometimes that doesn’t work, as evidenced by what happened with Noble and Silver.)

It’s sad that authors have to worry about things like this happening, but that’s the reality. So just be careful, and remember, it’s better to not be published at all than to be published badly. Or by a bad publisher.

Every so often authors tell you their stories came to them upon the spring breeze and then magic flowed through their fingertips thus creating this fantastical piece of awesome that transcends space and time. Okay, maybe that happens on occasion, and I do have characters that are easy to write as they are very vocal, but not all characters want to share their feelings. Sometimes they are just plain stubborn. Sometimes the hero of your story is nothing short of an A-hole that wants nothing more than to see you suffer as they have suffered in their fictional past.

The hero of Under the Satyr Moon was so stubborn that the entire series was created as a means to keep myself writing around his refusal to cooperate. Ariston’s book was going to be a standalone novel. And when he gave me trouble, I started digging into his back story and Pan’s book came to mind. When I got the bright idea to make Pan the Jersey Devil, I told Ariston to suck it and wrote Pan’s book first instead. And then when I finished, and it was time to return to Ariston, I was met with the same resistance.

“Why do you hate me?” I would ask my work in progress, staring at a bright, white, blank page with a blinking cursor. What do you do when your character doesn’t want to tell you his story?

Short answer: throw more obstacles at him until you get him so annoyed that he starts mouthing off and digging himself into a pit in front of his heroine. Let him get bit by animals/demigods. Let the gods smite him. And let other characters call him on everything he is refusing to do. Until he gets so fed up that he has no choice but to cooperate.

Miraculously, it worked. Once the character realized he was coming across as a dodo he got it together and did what he was supposed to, mostly.

Mind you, I love Ariston. He’s one of my most honest, and overall good, characters I have written. But he knows he was a pain in the rear from day one. A lot of his scenes had to be worked on in revisions because the first draft was not going to ever be finished if I waited on him to work with me. I am a plotter for the most part, but I only plot main actions and events and let the characters get there on their own to see how they react and play off of that. But it goes to show it won’t always be so easy. I had to come up with methods around it, and hopefully it will be helpful to other writers who read this post that have similar issues.

Throw obstacles at him until he reacts and gives you something to work with (as stated above.) Proved the most effective in this case.

Write from other character POVs more often in the first draft. This way the story still keeps its flow and you don’t get stumped. Upon revision, build on the hero’s POV. See if you can take some of the Heroine’s POV and rewrite it from the Hero’s. You have the scene there, but you are seeing it from a new perspective. It’s a little more work, but sometimes when you do this the scene is much stronger in the end as you are not trying to build the scene anymore, just the character.

Jump to later parts of the book. If you are OCD like me, and like to write in a linear, beginning to end fashion, this is not an easy task. When I finally called Ariston some very ugly words, stopped a third of the way in, and wrote the last 60 pages of the book, it helped a lot. I understood where I needed to get Ariston in terms of character development by the end because I had it written out. I knew where he was going before he knew it himself, and was able to whip him into shape when writing the middle of the book.

I didn’t do it for this book, but when having trouble with character voice in my creative writing class we would write scenes not in our story with characters they may or may not interact with. Kind of like deleted scenes or flashbacks, etc. Make him respond. Make him react. Get him to express himself until you can get the feel of him for the book. Don’t discard these, as you can make them into some fun blog posts or special material for readers at a later time if you want.

And there it is. Does anyone else have characters that don’t want to do as they are told, or have they experienced it before? Do you do anything different to get around it?

Rebekah Lewis holds a Bachelor of Arts in English Literature. She is an award-winning cover artist for digital publishers, and enjoys every minute of it when not immersed in a world of satyrs and Greek gods. Always feeling the need to be productive, she can be found creating something whether with words or images, or with arts and crafts. She resides in Savannah, GA with her cat, Bagheera.

If you would like to follow Rebekah on social media or contact via email, use the following information:

Under the Satyr Moon a curse was wrought, and under the same moon shall it be reversed…

…if the Fates allow.

A freelance photography job goes downhill fast when Lily Anders’ boyfriend dumps her and disappears from the campsite, leaving her stranded in the middle of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Feeling lost, heartbroken, and afraid, Lily follows a mysterious melody through the wilderness. She never would have guessed the source of the music would reveal that legendary figures of Greek mythology really existed, and she could be one of them.

Ever since he was cursed, Ariston has only wanted one thing—to be human again. He has searched the globe for a nymph to free him, but over three thousand years of failure has pushed him into a life of solitude. Ariston believes he’s finally found the salvation he’s longed for when he catches Lily spying on him in the forest. Unfortunately, he has to convince her to like him first.

What seems to be the Fates bringing them together in time for the Satyr Moon proves to be an elaborate scheme with macabre intentions. Dionysus has sent Ariston’s estranged brother, Adonis, to ensure the curse cannot be broken, and nothing tosses cold water over the flame of seduction like a twin seeking vengeance.

“Oh God. Oh God. I’m hallucinating, probably have a fever, and I need to get out of here now.” She nodded as she said the last word as if it finalized her babbling, confirming an inner argument of some sort.

“I don’t think you’re suffering any ailments. You can keep gawking at me all you like. Although, I would prefer if you looked a little higher than my feet.” Much more impressive, that. At least, no one had ever complained before.

She made a derogatory noise in the back of her throat. “Please tell me you’re some D&D nerd in a really well-made costume and you mean me no harm. Also, if you have a cell phone, I would really appreciate it if you don’t take my previous comment personally and let me borrow it for a moment.” Ah, well, that solved one of his concerns; if she had no phone, she couldn’t have sent evidence or contacted anyone about what she’d seen. Unless, of course, she had a camera stashed somewhere. I should probably frisk her to find out.

He crossed his arms. “This is not a costume.” Ariston narrowed his eyes, a thought occurring to him. “I didn’t sense you being attracted by my song like I did the blonde. Are you a magical being? Who are you? A deity? A demigoddess?” He was on to something there, but wasn’t sure what. Had she brought the freak thunderstorm the night before? There had been no sign of rain, yet rained it had. And hailed on top of it.

“Right… Maybe you should let me hold that phone I mentioned before. I think it could bring help for both of us.”

“I don’t have a phone on me. Where would I put it? In my leg hair?” He lifted a hoof and waved it in a counterclockwise motion. Brunette’s eyes widened once more. Why did everyone get all worked up over the hooves, but not the horns? Those mostly received a pffft reaction followed by a series of retorts about his nature of “horniness.” It’s not like he would start making goat noises and chewing on buttons. The only part of his anatomy of any real importance hung heavily between his legs, and that was as human as any mortal man. Except he liked to think he was better endowed.

“In your, uh, gun holster?” Brunette pointed to his panpipes.

“What about it?” Ariston asked.

“You asked where you would put a cellphone. There is a large pocket on your strappy purse thingy.” She nibbled her full bottom lip, an act that shot fire to his groin.

“It’s not a purse. How could you even say that? It’s very manly.”

“Uh huh. Of course.”

“It is.” The twinge of lust faded out as he noticed the blood spotted bandage across the palm of her hand. “How were you injured?” Ariston took an unconscious step toward her. He had medical supplies at the cabin. Though he healed at phenomenal speeds, his blood still made a mess when it flowed on the wrong side of his skin. He could patch her up in no time.

She glanced at her palm, almost surprised to see the bandage there. Then she shook her head and said, “Yeah, this is the weirdest conversation ever. Sorry, but…gotta dash.” She darted off in the opposite direction. As she sprinted away, stinging drops of water began to bombard his skin. Brunette had to be the one manipulating the rain, but how? What was she? It must be linked to her emotions somehow, and it made him wonder what had happened to provoke the furious assault from the elements the night before.

Ariston snapped out of his stupor and chased after her. “Hey, not so fast!” A thought started taking root in his mind. He’d been excited about her before, but if he was right… Gods, he couldn’t let her escape. Not if there was a chance.

Brunette was magical in nature, affecting the elements. The timing was too good to be true. Ariston had sought one of her kind for as long as he’d been a satyr, and if she turned out being a nymph, she was also his savior. Unfortunately, his salvation continued putting distance between them. She may have the upper hand in the rain, but he knew the forest well. He’d capture her like the legends of old, and she’d be his. Mine!

She had revealed herself to him. Perhaps not intentionally, yet she had. All he needed was Brunette to desire him enough to take him as a lover under the Satyr Moon. He smiled. Ariston was rusty when it came to true seduction, without the use of magic, but he enjoyed a challenge. He could be free, mortal, could finally have a family, grow old, and live a normal human life.

My heart pounded and a scream rose in my throat. I trembled, and my bladder nearly let go. A normal gun was no threat to me, but this gun was filled with silver. I’d been shot with a silver bullet once.

My throat closed, choking off the scream, and I wasn’t sure I could even speak.

Andrew didn’t pull the trigger. His hands shook. He wasn’t a violent man, and he didn’t want to hurt me. But the command planted in his brain overrode his usual thoughts and conscience.

“Andrew, put it down.” The words came from me in a voice I barely recognized. A voice which barely shook. I would have been proud of myself if I’d been able to spare the brain power. “You don’t want to do this.”

I put compulsion into the words, and ran into the same block I had with the wolf. Someone else had planted compulsion, or perhaps even a full geas, in Andrew’s mind.

“Put it down,” I said again, increasing the compulsion.

Kyle stood beside me, appearing to have no reaction at all to the presence of a silver-loaded gun pointed at his mate. But appearances could be deceiving. He trembled too, and his body was tensed and ready. He was waiting to see if I persuaded Andrew to lose the gun. If not, Kyle would act.

That would endanger him. Silver bullets would do just as much, if not more, damage to my lover than to me. But if I tried to physically disarm Andrew, I would definitely be shot. At point-blank range.

“Andrew, listen to me.” I lowered my voice to the calm, soothing tone which in the past had persuaded humans and werewolves alike to follow my commands. “You do not want to shoot me. You do not want to hurt me.”

His hands shook more and his gaze darted around the room. “Shut up.”

“Put down the gun,” I said.

“No!”

His shaking stopped and he leveled the gun directly at my heart.

Kyle leapt.

Andrew landed on the floor with a loud crack as his head hit the side of the desk. Kyle was on top of him, snarling.

I stood, and for a frantic moment I couldn’t find my voice.

Andrew raised the gun and pressed it to the side of Kyle’s head. Kyle slammed Andrew’s arm to the floor and knelt on it. Andrew screamed.

“Stop!” I shouted, and somehow made it to the floor beside Kyle, who had Andrew’s head in his hands. Squeezing. The man’s screams grew louder.

“Kyle, no!” I poured all the compulsion I could manage into the words.

But compulsion didn’t work on Kyle. Another crack filled the room as Kyle broke Andrew’s neck.

Kyle rocked back against the desk, breathing heavily, staring with wild eyes at the body on which he still knelt. He touched his tongue to his lips and howled.

No matter what else happened, I couldn’t let Kyle shift in my office. The best that would happen would be madness. Wolves couldn’t stand to be confined, and while the office was fairly large, it was still an enclosed room with no way out other than through the closed window behind the desk.

I grabbed Kyle’s shoulders roughly and stared into his eyes, forcing him to meet my gaze. “Kyle, you cannot shift here.”

My heart was about to pound a hole through my chest. I was clammy with sweat and shook so badly I could barely hold onto my lover. And yet my voice came out equally as calm and soothing as when I’d tried to compel Andrew.

Even though compulsion didn’t affect Kyle, my tone of voice did. This was how I spoke to him every time I helped him through a shift. Every time he needed comfort or reassurance. I could only hope it would work now.

“Kyle, stay with me,” I said in the same tone. “Deep breaths. You’re inside. I’ll take you out to run later, but right now I need you to stay with me.”

“Yeah.” The word was practically a growl. He closed his eyes and inhaled and exhaled a few times. I loosened my grip on him as his body relaxed.

When he opened his eyes again, they were Kyle’s normal eyes. Except for the tears.

Friday marked the release of the final novel in my Real Werewolves Don’t Eat Meat series. That series started back in 2011 with the novel Salad on the Side, which grew out of conversations with friends and a challenge from the MLR Press executive editor. At the time, I thought it would just be one novel, but my editor and readers persuaded me otherwise.

It’s been an interesting three years with Kyle Slidell, Tobias Rogan, and their other friends. In addition to the Real Werewolves series, the characters gave rise to the shorter Men of City Pack series of heterosexual romance stories, which run concurrently with the first three books of Real Werewolves Don’t Eat Meat. Tobias’s backstory of how he was changed into a werewolf at age fifteen became a young adult novel, Fresh Meat, which was published under my YA pen name Jo Ramsey. And back in the M/M romance side, a novella, Chance Met, was a tentative spin-off from RWDEM.

So I’ve gotten to know these characters and their world very, very well. But all good things must come to an end. It’s time for Kyle and Tobias to finally have their happily-ever-after, and for various reasons I’ve retired the characters and universe, which means there will be no additional stories even related to these.

I thank my readers, publisher, and editors for letting me play in this world for a while, and I hope you’ve all enjoyed the journey with me.